Story HourPost your ongoing tales from your campaigns, and read those from others for inspiration. Lots of other RPG boards post "Story Hours", but this is where it started!
A stale breeze wafted up from behind the group, hot and stinky like the breath of a drunkard, carrying the stench of sweat and blood and smoke to the balcony on which they now stood. Dead derro littered the floor of the dining hall below.
“Stay there,” Kormick whispered. He pressed one finger to his lips and held his other hand out toward the crowd of dwarves, in the universal signal for “stop right there and do not move a muscle if you know what is good for you, in the name of all that is holy and sensible.”
They stopped, mostly. Corani pushed her way through, axes up. Savina hastened to her side, whispering “you are needed here, to protect your family.” Corani stopped.
<i>Expedient,</i> thought Kormick, and scouted ahead. The hallway terminated with a room to their left, and he peeked in.
As he sneaked back silently to report, Twiggy whispered to him. “You’re really good at that.”
“When you’re smuggling smokes, booze, and Handmaidens in and out of a magic academy at age 14, you learn some stealth,” he whispered. Twiggy smirked.
“So?” whispered Tavi, “what’s in there?”
Kormick explained in hushed tones. More of that electrical moss. Several cobwebs, thick enough to obscure the view, running from floor to ceiling in the far left corner of the room. Three derro, gathered around a web with something inside. Dark stairs descending from the back of the room, and some sort of natural crevice in the right hand side, leading to who-knows-where.
“What would make a spider web of that size?” Mena inquired.
“Well, naturally, that would be a giant . . . ooh.” Kormick clenched his jaw. She already knew the answer to that one, didn’t she.
But there was no use standing about. Tavi raised his sword. Twiggy pulled her new goggles down over her glasses. Kormick signaled to the slave, who sneaked up to the door with him and slid it open silently. They shared a look, nodded, and fired. One. Two. Kormick’s crossbow bolts sunk into one of the derro, and a rock from Arden’s sling sunk into the top of one of the webs. It stuck there, caught in the web. The hit derro screamed. The other derro raised their axes. The fight was on. But where is the giant spider? Kormick thought.
As the hit derro pulled Kormick’s crossbow bolts out of its arm, Twiggy cast from the doorway. An orb of force warped the air, whizzing past Arden’s head and careening off the already-injured derro, which stumbled as Tavi charged in, slicing a gash in its chest. Blood dripped down its armor and it gurgled a yell up toward the ceiling behind Tavi.
Tavi wheeled around. “The ceiling!” He pointed with his sword at the only corner of the room that had been invisible from the doorway. There was a derro clinging to the ceiling. Not just clinging: skittering forward, rearing back . . . and then it VOMITED, covering Tavi and Mena in web-like goo and spraying the rest of the room in splotchy webs. “Eew!” screamed Savina, as she tried to move in toward the action, her hair caught in the sticky net.
The room’s green cast became brighter as Tavi’s sword lit up and exploded in green flame. It burned Tavi—but it also burned the webs, and he was free. “We can burn them!” he yelled, and let loose another burst of green flame. The derro screeched as flames seared their flesh and shriveled the webs around them.
“Tavi! Behind you!” Mena was struggling in the webs, as one of the derro climbed up the wall behind Tavi, in a flanking position with the more-injured one. It’s not a giant spider, thought Kormick, it’s whole group of Ketkath derro-spider hybrid freaks of nature. He heard a satisfying CRACK as his hammer connected with one of their legs. That’s just wrong.
The spider-thing on the ceiling reared back to spit at Kormick . . . and THWACK. Kormick heard it before he saw it – a stone had flown from the slave’s sling right between the spider-thing’s eyes. The creature didn't fall, but it hesitated, obviously hurt. Kormick made a mental note to lay off the slave jokes.
The creature on the wall pulled an axe out of its belt and struck viciously, leaving a gash in Tavi’s arm. “Tavi, you need help over there?” Twiggy yelled, from near the doorway. She was barely visible through the thick webs, but she was raising her arms to cast.
“Nope, got it,” Tavi said, and a cyclone of red flame exploded from his sword as he swung with a vicious backhand. Like roasting from the inside, Kormick thought, as the blade and fire together sliced into derro-spider flesh. The walls behind them sparked as Tavi’s fire hit the glowing moss. But suddenly the creature on the wall in front of Tavi reared back and spit its sticky web, and Tavi was pinned to the wall, exposed and defenseless against the poison axe of the creature’s still-standing ally.
A spell from Twiggy had confused the spider-thing on the ceiling—it had swatted at the air and skittered to the other side of the room—but now it was rearing back again, ready to let loose another shower of web-like goo. “That’s disgusting!” yelled Savina, and she pushed past Kormick until she was almost directly underneath the spider-thing. Didn’t we talk about not doing that? Kormick thought—as Savina raised her arms and cried out to Alirria. Sacred flame descended, searing the spider-thing and burning away several webs. But Savina couldn’t retreat as well as she could attack: the creature spat again, trapping Savina in a gooey mess, and then lunged forward to BITE the girl. Its fangs sunk into her shoulder. “Poison!” yelled Savina, squirming and writhing against the webs that pinned her to the floor.
Kormick felt a rush of fraternal compassion and frustration for Savina. She was caught in the webs, flailing with her staff, her face twisted from the pain of the poisoned gash on her side. Blood flowed from her wound, and she could not reach to staunch it. It had taken a lot of faith— and a lot of stupidity, but mostly a lot of faith—for her to rush to the front of the fight like that.
He raised his hammers to swing again. But the spider thing reared back and spit again, covering Kormick’s face and arms with webbing—and then, just as it had with Savina, it LUNGED, digging its teeth into Kormick’s shoulder. Poison burned into the wound. He couldn’t move. “You,” he said, pointing at Savina as she hung, trapped, beside him—“hang in there, kid.”
On the other side of the room, Tavi was also taking a beating. Two derro-things—one standing, the other clinging to the wall— were swinging at him with axes, and connecting. He was weak with poison. Frankly, the webs pinning him to the wall seemed to be the only things holding him up. His sword hit stone as often as it hit derro.
Then Mena’s voice rang out as she freed herself from the webs and struck out at the back of the standing derro. “Come on, Tavi, you trained for this!” Tavi’s eyes grew determined, his sword ignited, and he began burning away the webs that held him to the wall. It’s amazing what you can train for, Kormick thought.
Kormick and Savina remained trapped, menaced by a spider-thing on the ceiling, but the slave was—ironically—still free. Arden dove through an impossibly narrow gap in the webs surrounding Kormick, somersaulted as she landed, and came up right behind the creature. STAB. It staggered and fell, and Arden stepped back, her hand covered in its blood. “Where did you learn—” Kormick began.
“Dodging the whip, Justicar,” she replied. And flashed a grim smile.
Okay, if the slave is making slave jokes now, then I'm still making slave jokes.
“Tavi!” Savina broke free and rushed forward to heal Tavi, and then raised her arms again. “Alirria!” A burst of sacred flame erupted from the ceiling, scorching the standing derro-thing that had been attacking him. It fell in a heap on the floor, and Tavi cut through the webs with renewed strength.
The last remaining derro-creature clung to the wall with the panicked look of a debtor about to run out the back door when the crew came to collect. But there was no outlet. SLICE. Tavi’s blade found a home in its neck and it fell, landing with a dull THUD in a thick tangle of webbing.
And the room was, finally, quiet.
“Jan, are you hurt?” Savina asked, softly. Kormick had freed himself from the webs, but still could barely move.
“Actually, yes.”
Savina laid her gentle hands on his shoulders, and Kormick felt the warmth of her healing. “Thanks.” He lit the torch from his pack and began burning the webs that now filled most of the room, gathering pouches and amulets from the dead derro as he passed. He handed the pouch of residuum to Twiggy and the potions to Savina. “More healing,” Savina explained, and handed one to Mena, who quietly passed it to Arden. Kormick didn’t stop her.
“Fire is cleansing,” Tavi said, as he watched the webs shrivel and burn.
Mena looked at the back of her hand, marred by burn scars. “Don’t care for fire.” She paused. “Then again, I don’t care for killing, and I don’t care for dungeons. Yet here we are.” She moved a derro body, to inspect it . . . but discovered that the tangle of webs it had landed on was more than it seemed. There was a body tangled among the webs. She pulled the webs away from the body. It was a dwarf. A male dwarf, with salt-and-pepper hair. Once strong, but now gaunt. Its face was twisted in a rictus of terror.
Corani gasped from behind the group, then pushed forward through them to approach the body. “No! Kartan!” Her husband, now dead from some derro horror.
The elder wife, Sertani, strode forward and looked down at the body, putting her hand on Corani’s shoulder. “We must find Thurran,” she said, softly. “He is the head of the Rockminder clan, now.”
Corani knelt down beside the body with effort, brushing a limp strand of hair back from the once-proud forehead, peeling away a cobweb. Then she looked up at Kormick. “He was a sculptor.”
Savina was looking at Kormick.
Everyone was looking at Kormick.
“Oh,” Kormick said. “Right. Um, rites.” He pulled out his little text and flipped through it, as dwarves filed into the room. Sertani pulled the three-year-old to the front of the group. The kid looked up at Kormick. Kormick kept flipping pages. Where is that section with the rites . . .
And he looked at Savina, her eyes bright with hope, and he looked down at the kid, his eyes wide with expectation, and he stopped flipping pages. He closed the book, and said what came into his head. About honor. Bravery. Then…craftsmanship. Singlemindedness of purpose. Devoting oneself to family. Doing what is necessary. Dedicating one’s life to a single, certain, goal.
Savina translated.
At the end, there was a little tear in Sertani’s eye.
There was a little tear in Kormick’s eye, too.
As they silently built a cairn over Kartan’s body, Kormick considered the experience of performing rites for what felt like the first time. Hm. Religion can be comforting, he thought, touching the spot on his shoulder where Savina had healed him. Not just a tool for establishing authority. It felt new. Strange. More comfortable than he would expect.
The three-year old placed the last stone atop his father’s grave.
Too much work kept me from reading for a while, but I came back to find this:
Quote:
Originally Posted by Ilex
The longer we're in this horrible place, Mena thought, self-control is going to become an increasing rare and precious resource. Dungeons are a terrible terrible idea. Whoever thought that trapping heavily armed and nervous people in a confined space with only one way out would be a clever little challenge should be dropped down to whatever man-eating plants are populating the basement.
Twiggy agreed. This whole place is disgusting. It felt like days had passed since the group had descended into the derro warren. In reality, it had probably been less than an hour. But so much had happened. The fire, the smoke, the children, the webs…and now the Dwarven man—Corani’s husband—the one person in the world who might be able to tell them where the Spring was—was dead. So much death…no. For once in your life, she told herself, don’t think. It hurt to think. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, it didn’t hurt to do. Twiggy shoved her thoughts into the back of her mind, raised her goggles, and tried to wipe her glasses clean on the arm of her ash-stained dress.
“Chalk up one for the good guys,” said Kormick. “Although it would have been nice to have your flaming ball of death back there.”
Kormick’s gallows humor made Twiggy feel herself again. “And what did you say you did during your years at the Sorcerers Academy?”
It has been a long day for all of us,” Mena cut in, “but it is far from over. We must keep moving.” She surveyed the two exits available to them: the dark stairway descending in front of them and the long crevice in the wall to their side.
“We know what the stairway holds,” said Kormick. “Undoubtedly, further chambers of carnage and ill-kept death. What we need to know is what’s down that crevice. Arden, why don’t you—”
He paused and turned to Twiggy. “Young lady, perhaps you could send your mouse, as you did earlier?”
I heard that, thought Acorn, and I don’t understand why Arden can’t do it. He was about to ask her to. I know it. She’s a slave. That’s what slaves do. Things that people like us shouldn’t have to—
Come on, now, Acorn, Twiggy thought in response, you know how I feel about that. But this is no time to talk about the ethics of slave ownership. Arden has been injured many times today, and clearly she has a problem with small spaces. You can do this. You can be brave. I know you can.
Acorn paused for a long time. You promise you’ll be here when I get back?
I Promise. 100%
Acorn was gone for a long time. A very long time.
Eventually, though, he returned, with a report. The crevice led for a very long way down a gentle slope. The ground was uneven. At the end, there seemed to be another room, with derro voices in it. They didn’t hear me, though, I’m positive, Acorn thought. I was very quiet.
Just then, they heard a faint noise. Not from the crevice, though—from down the stairs. A voice, maybe, or something breaking. Then quiet.
They snuck down, Arden and Tavi in the lead, Kormick just behind them. The others followed.
The dwarves and Rose hung back in the stairway, within earshot. Gulst, the three-year-old, clung to his mother’s leg. Rose patted his head reassuringly, but her face told a story of sorrow and consternation.
The stairway opened up into a large room—a workspace of sorts. Tables lined the walls, strewn with candles, feathers, herbs, and other arcane accoutrements.
If I didn’t know any better, Twiggy thought, [/i]I’d say someone had set up a telep---[/i] She turned around. On the wall behind her was a large circle, ringed in what appeared to be heavily corrupted Dwarven lettering. Oh.
Just then, something appeared in the middle of the room. Twiggy couldn’t quite tell what it was. A derro, perhaps, wearing sorcerer’s robes? WHOOSH. Twiggy felt her mind become cloudy, and saw Mena fall to one knee, clutching her head.
As Twiggy struggled to shake herself to her senses, she saw Savina rush in to heal Mena. Arden tumbled into the fray, stabbing the derro sorcerer with her shortsword. And Ordren—the dwarf who had been so badly injured—ran past her and charged the thing, scratching and BITING it on the leg. In her mental fog, the whole scene seemed . . . not quite real.
(DM’S NOTE: That’d be Ordren’s Daily Power—a re-skinned version of the Ranger’s Hunter’s Bear Trap wherein he flings himself at someone, wraps himself around their leg, and proceeds to bite at their kneecaps.)
Out of the corner of Twiggy’s eye, something moved. Was it Tavi? Kormick? A derro? All three? In her fog, she couldn’t be sure. Then a THUNK. AUGGH! A derro voice cried out in anguish.
###
While the women contended with the sorcerer, Tavi joined Kormick in confronting a derro who'd rushed in from another door. Or, rather, Tavi stood back and watched Kormick pound the derro with his warhammers. Knees. Gut. With every blow, the derro let out a gurgle of pain. Kormick’s movements seemed almost meditative. I’ve been training in combat precision for my entire life, Tavi thought, but what this guy does . . . it’s really quite beautiful.
But Tavi didn’t have much time to admire Kormick’s skill. A second opponent ran into the room, his jaw determined, his hands flaming with sorcerous fire. He bobbed and weaved like a boxer, and took a swing at Tavi. It connected, and burned. The fight was on.
###
Twiggy looked up at the teleport circle on the wall as the fog cleared from her mind. There was a wavering on the surface, almost as if she was looking into water. It wasn’t her imagination. We have to do something about that, she thought. Or we’re leaving the door open for our death.
Twiggy had done quite a bit of research on teleport circles, before setting out on this journey. But those circles were different. They were organized, ordered, with the elegance of magic learned at the Academy. Not the crude chaos of the derro. And anyway, back in Pol Henna, Tavi had done most of the work of setting up the circle.
Not most of the work, Twiggy told herself, just some of it. And I had to correct something. And since then, I’ve controlled my power in a way I never thought possible. She thought back to the flaming sphere in the entry way. I can do this.
Twiggy looked around. The other women were stalking the sorcerer, who flitted in and out of sight—invisibility spells, she thought. The men were engaged with two particularly vicious derro in the corner. Don't think about those things, Twiggy told herself. [/i]One problem at a time.[/i]
"Mena! Savina, Arden!" she called, and pointed to the teleport circle on the wall. "We have to shut this thing down. Now!"
"Tell us how," said Mena.
Right. Twiggy tuned out the clanging and yelling of the men’s fighting, and concentrated. She thought about which parts of a teleport circle were the parts that made it work. This circle looked different from the ones she knew, but some things were similar . . . “Mena!” she yelled, pointing at one of the runes. “THERE!” Mena swung her flail at the rune. The stone chipped. The surface of the circle wavered, but stayed watery.
“Arden! Savina! The feathers!” Savina and Arden rushed to the wall, tearing feathers apart in an eerie reversal of their roles at the teleport center in Pol Henna. Twiggy joined them, extinguishing candles and pulling at stones.
The surface of the wall began to move and ripple, as if something were pushing it out. “Mena! Again!” Mena swung, and chipped another rune.
A long, sinewy tendril pushed through the surface. It was massive, extending, waving, pushing forward . . .It was a nightmare, like nothing Twiggy had ever even dreamed of before . . .
Twiggy lunged forward and swung her robe at a small cluster of candles just out of reach. They wobbled, flickered, and fell, extinguished.
FOOSH.
And suddenly, Twiggy was staring at a blank wall. She stood, shaking, staring.
###
Tavi rolled against the wall, beating out the flames from his tunic. He had done a lot of damage to the derro—blood was oozing from the creature’s arms and head where Tavi’s blade had smashed it against the wall—but Tavi had taken his share of hurt, and the derro just wasn’t going down.
Kormick was burned, too, and was none too happy about it. “Why! Won’t! You! Die!” he yelled, shoving his foot against the derro’s chest and pounding it with his warhammers. It slumped, finally, unconscious.
As Tavi sheathed his sword, he wondered: Why haven’t the others been helping us?
He turned to see them all staring at the center of the room. There was nothing there. They were staring into empty space.
“The sorcerer,” Twiggy explained. “He’s gone invisible.”
They felt around for what seemed an eternity, stabbing at air, casting at nothing.
Then suddenly the sorcerer appeared for an instant, cast a spell, and ran toward a hallway that extended out from the corner of the room. Twiggy staggered, grabbing her head.
“Running only makes us angry, you know,” Mena called after him. Her armor whispered behind her. …Angry, angry, angry.
There was a shuffling sound near the doorway.
“Or as we say in Dar Und,” Kormick announced, “it only means you’ll die tired.” He fired his crossbow. SHUNK. The sorcerer appeared, slumped against the doorway, unconscious.
###
“Arden, see what’s down there,” Kormick said, pointing down the hallway.
I don't understand why the mouse can't do it, Arden thought, walking to the door. Oh well. It's amazing what can start to seem comfortingly familiar, especially now that I've finally recovered a little –
Interesting - disarming the teleport circle looked like a skill challenge. Was it? I've been reading how Piratecat has been working those in his 4th Ed game. How did you folks do this one in game? The core skill challenge mechanics struck me as a little flat, but this sounded quite intense. Did it work as well at the table?
Thanks, Rughat -- yes, this was a skill challenge, and yes, it was very intense at the table. Skill challenges have often been very intense for us, in fact. I will let Fajitas speak more to the skill challenge mechanic he's been using (which varies slightly different from the core skill challenge mechanic in the DMG, and I believe our experiments in the area may have served as the source material for some of what Piratecat has been doing), but I will say that as a player I've found that skill challenges have integrated fantastically into the game, upping tension for various tasks, forcing us to work together, making us think about what we're good at and how we can make those things work to our advantage. I credit Fajitas' creativity and quick thinking for picking good skill challenges and integrating them into the experience. For example, this skill challenge was integrated into the combat that was going on simultaneously, so that for a round, a PC could choose between participating in the skill challenge or fighting, which upped the drama even more. In addition to the challenges he plans, there are times when we'll try to do something offbeat, and he'll pull out the success/failure pebbles and say "sounds like a skill challenge to me!" which is excellent.
And now back to our regularly scheduled dungeon...
Kormick knew the sound of breaking crockery when he heard it. That was breaking crockery.
Sure enough, as the slave backed away from the corner, there was a trickle of blood mixed with some unknown dark liquid dripping down her temple, mingling with the red of her hair. Tavi was the next to peek around the corner, and—BAM—the same thing happened to him.
“I’m sick of this.” Komick nearly spat the words as he strode into the room. “Seriously—“ he threw down the unconscious derro sorcerer whom he had been dragging by the collar —“I’m sick of this.”
Kormick found himself in a small cave, supported by columns. Tables crowded the room, covered with bottles, vials, boxes, jars . . . sorcery stuff, he supposed. A large fireplace covered much of the opposite wall.
A piece of crockery whizzed by his ear. “Shtay back, derro shcum!” It was a female voice, speaking dwarven, no less vitriolic for being slurred with inebriation.
“We are no derro,” Mena’s voice called back. Mena’s armor snarled as bottles caromed off her shield and smashed against the floor. Mena stepped beside Kormick and put her foot on the body of the still-unconscious derro sorcerer. “But we have one here with us. Do you want to kill it, or should I?”
Kormick blinked in surprise. That may be the single sexiest thing I have ever seen, he thought.
The crockery stopped. “Whozzat?” asked the voice.
“I am Dame Filomena of the Defiers of the Wind. We are here to help you.”
“Liar,” the dwaven woman replied, “Lying shcum.”
“I speak the truth,” Mena said. “I swear it.”
“Your oath meansh nothing,” the voice snarled. “No honor.”
“I swear,” Mena sighed, “on my ancestors.”
"Yeah? Who're they?" the voice demanded.
Mena paused, exasperation showing clearly on her face. “I swear on the di Rossini family of Pol Henna.”
After a long moment, the voice replied. “Fine,” it said, “throw me the derro shcum.”
Mena heaved the body over the pile of boxes, and Kormick heard more crashing as pieces of crockery smashed, mostly against the floor, some against the derro body. Kormick envied the ease of the dwarf’s revenge, but imagined that she wasn’t doing much damage, not in her state. “Are you all right back there—?“ he began.
“Zirkai!” The voice of Sertani, the eldest wife of the late Rockminder, rang out from behind him as Rose and the dwarves entered the room. “Zirkai, that’s enough!” Sertani marched past Kormick and reached behind the boxes.
She emerged holding the collar of a dwarven woman—pregnant, although less so than Corani, and perhaps a few years older—unsteady with intoxication.
“About time you found me,” slurred Zirkai.
###
That’s twice, Mena thought, twice in this gods-forsaken hellhole that I have been made to think of my family. Twice I have had to invoke them in some twisted parody of “honor.” Her mind swam with anger. Mena did not think about her family. Ever.
Mena looked down at the unconscious derro that Zirkai had been battering and listened, numbly, as the others toured the room, picking up useful items. Two healing potions. A large pouch of processed residuum. Two alchemical recipes. A potion of sacrifice. A cloak of the chirurgeon. A pair of bracers that could be used to emit flame. A shield that would prevent the user from being pushed or pulled.
In the back of Mena’s hearing, the reunion—no, shouting match—between the dwarven women continued. A story emerged: Zirkai had been separated from the others and drugged to prevent her from doing injury to herself (or, equally likely, to others). The last sister-wife had been carted off to points unknown, as had the eldest son and Mertal, the cook.
At Mertal’s name, the still-suffering Ordren slumped in sympathetic pain. “So we have no idea where they are”? he implored.
“What do you think I just shaid?” Zirkai shot back.
The dwarves’ voices were filled with rancor and recrimination. It was, Mena supposed, their version of family. It only made things worse.
No evil is ever defeated without a price, Mena thought. Her stomach churned in anger as she thought back to the derro woman’s question. “Do you have children?” she had asked. Visions of her own childhood pushed their way into her mind. No evil is ever defeated without a price, and the Twilight Lurker never lets anyone off cheaply. She quietly lifted the body of the unconscious derro and quietly carried it into the hallway, closing the door behind her. I will not pay that price for nothing.
Mena slapped the derro’s face and ordered it awake with quiet malice. “We need information,” she said, “and you need to tell it to us. Now.” The Defier’s armor purred, malevolently.
The derro trembled in fear as its eyes fluttered open, and it turned its head away.
Mena put one hand on each side of the derro’s head and stared into its eyes. “I have done things in this hellhole that I would prefer not to have done.” She continued to stare, letting her words sink in. “Although it gives me no pleasure,” she continued, “I will not hesitate to do them again.”
A pool of urine formed under the derro’s body.
“I would like to know where the dwarven prisoners are,” Mena cooed. “I would like to know without any fuss or trouble.”
The derro prisoner trembled in fear. “Children in nursery. Two in cages. One in kitchen. Two on lower levels.”
Mena nodded and continued, speaking as if to a young child. “What is waiting for us on the lower levels?”
“Many. More each day. Lurx. Our clan expand.”
Our clan. Blood swam before Mena’s eyes. “And what is waiting for us in the kitchen?” she whispered. “I like details.”
“Pets.” The derro could not control its voice. “Pets pets pets pets pets.”
“Do they have big teeth?”
“Yes.”
“So do I.” She slit its throat and turned away.
###
A healing potion and the effects of Savina’s new cloak had bolstered Arden’s strength considerably, but it hadn’t made the derro hellhole any more palatable.
“Two places left,” said Tavi, with surprisingly good cheer, “the kitchen and the lower levels.” The gentleman glanced from Ordren’s pleading eyes to Sertani’s determined scowl.
Neither sounded appetizing to Arden. Both were further underground. Both meant more time in this place. But she had no choice.
“Back to the crevice,” announced Tavi.
As they climbed into the crevice, Arden felt her chest tighten with the terror that seemed to come with all small, dark spaces. But one of the dwarven children looked up at her, reaching its hand out to touch her cloak with the tight grip of its young fingers. Its face positively glowed with gratitude. There is some good I can do here, Arden thought. If I’m not killed first.
As they walked, the Justicar made conversation. “So, how does this work? How many wives can one dwarf have?”
Signor Octavian, whose family apparently had considerable experience with dwarven trade, explained: Dwarven women frequently ran the family’s business concerns, and a successful dwarven man would marry as many women as needed to run the business and raise the family.
“You could never run a crew that way,” Kormick chuckled. “No man can serve two masters.”
Arden trudged behind Savina, letting the familiar rhythm of resignation move her feet as the rough-hewn passage descended into the bowels of the earth. After a long time, Arden noticed a narrower branch heading upward and away. She pointed it out. The Signor’s hummingbird flitted about eagerly, darting in and out of the tunnel.
“Acorn says the lower levels are ahead,” Twiggy reminded them, referring to her mouse’s earlier reconnaissance mission. They continued walking. Walking.
The passage opened into an irregular chamber, a small natural cave that had been hewn wider by hand. Stalactites shimmered above, reflecting the green glow of electrical moss growing on the walls. Three derro stared down another passage on the other side of the room, their backs to the party.
The Justicar stopped and signaled silently to Arden, who looked back at the group. Savina, Mena, and Rose were busy keeping the dwarves together. Arden understood – they’d have to handle this by themselves. The Justicar looked at Tavi, who looked at Twiggy. Twiggy cast. A bolt of force streaked past the derro. Arden released her sling, striking one in the head. Before it could even yelp, Kormick’s crossbow bolt pierced through its neck. Then Tavi charged in, slicing through the reminaing two. They had barely made a sound.
“Like a well-oiled machine,” said Tavi, grinning.
The corridor continued, sloping further down. There were sounds ahead: derro voices; a far-off trickling sound; clanging. The crack of a whip.
It was all too familiar to Arden.
She braced herself and peeked into the room. Before her was a very large natural cavern, lit by green moss on the ceiling and a few dim torches lining the walls. There were large piles of . . . smashed furniture, perhaps, and heaps of dirt, rocks, and other scree along the back walls. A number of derro were standing around, idly holding axes and whips.
But Arden wasn’t looking at them. She was looking at several dwarves who were chained in the rear of the room, breaking rocks with anemic-looking picks. They were mostly old, but one was young—virtually a child, Arden thought.
It was all too familiar. The cold rage that flared through all her veins was familiar, too. But one thing was new: This time, I'm armed.
Looking closer, she saw that there was a human on the chain gang, a slight woman with sovereign features and a tattoo on her face, hauling a bucket of scree. Arden watched the woman's eyeline and picked her moment, raising a finger at precisely the right instant to catch the woman's attention. As soon as the woman saw her, Arden raised the finger all the way to her lips: Be quiet. Be ready.
The woman palmed a couple of rocks and slid them into the folds of her torn clothing. Arden could have cheered.
She backed away from the room and described what she'd seen to the gentlefolk. Tavi looked for himself.
"A lot of derro in that room," he commented. "I'd like to know if anything else is lurking down here first. Let's keep going." Mena nodded and Kormick prepared to lead the way on down the corridor.
"Signor," Arden said, and swallowed hard. "With respect, will we come back and help these people?" She was addressing a gentleperson directly. She was not to address a gentleperson directly. She was not to ask a gentleperson for anything. She…
“Yes,” he replied, absentmindedly.
Arden’s voice shook as she spoke again. “Signor Octavian, do I have your word that we will help these people?”
Crack. With every crack of the whip, Nyoko’s home felt farther and farther away. This time, the whip fell on one of the dwarves she was chained to. Next time it could be her. She was not sure she had ever been so dirty or so tired in her life. She ached to her bones.
She picked up a bucket of rocks. Crack. “Ow!” Noyko was positive that she hadn’t done anything wrong. There was no particular art to picking rocks and carrying buckets of scree from one pile to another. But then again, there was no rhyme or reason to the derro that had kidnapped her. Weeks ago, when they ambushed her on the road to Cauldron, she had assumed that they would ransom her back to the Adepts, but it quickly became apparent that they had no intention of doing so; they had not even asked where she was from. And now, after days of trudging through tunnels at the end of a whip, they had her breaking rocks. There were so many other things she was better at, if they had bothered to ask. So many things she could do for them—play the flute; perform acrobatic dance; sing the honored histories…if she only had a bow and some arrows, she thought, then they’d find out what she was really good at.
Nyoko closed her eyes for a moment and imagined. She imagined herself picking off these creatures two at a time with her bow. She imagined herself emerging into the daylight. She imagined returning to the compound of the Adepts back in Cauldron, being greeted by Lord Miyosho. She knew it was a dream, but it was such a good dream…
No, Nyoko thought, eyes open. An Adept must see everything, remember everything, and be prepared to testify. And even if I am stuck in this hellhole for the rest of my ever-shortening life, I am still an Adept. She opened her eyes and surveyed the scene as she carried the bucket over to the large pile of scree. Several derro, surrounded by broken furniture. Foremen at the center, ordering their underlings around. Underlings scurrying about. The room was larger than any she had seen in this derro warren, and seemed to be carved from a natural cave, with a wide entryway—
There. There was a woman peering in at the corner of the entryway. A heathen, clearly: red hair strayed from under her hood, making it obvious that she was not from the Sovereignty—and she looked as dusty and tired as Nyoko felt. But there was a fire in her eyes that Nyoko had not seen in anyone for days. She was free, Nyoko knew. That meant Nyoko had help. The woman signaled, a finger to her lips. Nyoko palmed a few rocks from the bucket and hid them in the folds of her tunic. Then the woman disappeared. Another head appeared at the entryway, briefly—a man’s head, also heathen. There was a sword at his side—a good sign, Nyoko thought. Then he disappeared.
Then nothing. Nyoko carried more rocks. Time passed. Five minutes. Five more minutes. Five more minutes. As her hope had risen, it fell. They were not coming back. Were they helping these derro?
###
Kormick stalked on past the doorway. There was not much back here. On the left, an empty room, with some sort of discoloration on the floor. On the right, a closed door—it seemed like the trickling sound was coming from behind it—and ahead, more hallway, heading into the darkness. There were drag marks on the floor, but no derro, and no sounds of prisoners. He returned to the entryway and reported.
“Alright, then,” said Tavi, “time to go in.” Corani and the other dwarves readied themselves for battle, and once again, Tavi instructed them to stay back by the doorway with Rose, out of immediate danger. “We’ll let you know if we need you,” he added. For once, Corani seemed almost mollified.
Tavi nodded to Arden. Her jaw was set, her eyes slit. She slid the door open, soundlessly.
###
It all happened at once: Two men barreled into the room, charging the derro foremen. One struck with a sword, the other with warhammers. The hooded woman Nyoko had seen before rushed in, slicing another derro with her shortsword. A warrior woman whirled past, her sword flashing and her armor actually shrieking in anger. A genteel-looking girl chanted, creating a blinding shaft of light. A bespectacled young woman shot energy from her hands. They were all heathens, but they were strong, and they had caught Nyoko’s captors by surprise. Derro were bleeding, stumbling.
But it didn’t last. The derro drew their weapons and surrounded the heathens. Four derro, then eight, then more, charging, screaming. It was chaos.
Then a roar came from the tunnel behind her, guttural, loud.
Nyoko knew that sound. It was Lurx. He was the head foreman, technically, but much more than that. He was large for a derro—almost the height of a human—and brutal. In her days in the tunnels, she had seen him order a slave killed for nothing more than tripping over her own shackles, and he had crushed one of his own men with his bare hands. Kettenek help these heathens, Nyoko thought, they don’t know what they’ve gotten themselves into.
Nyoko felt the dust move and smelled Lurx’s odor as he pounded past her and ran into the room. In battle, he seemed even more imposing than he had at the head of the chain gang. He was a good deal bigger than Nyoko, and his chest was bare, revealing a torso and arms built as if from bricks. When he reached the side of the room, he gave a great roar.
All the other derro froze.
Then they began to chant, beating their chests. Lurx! Lurx! Lurx! Lurx! Lurx!
He strode among them to the center of the room, glaring imperiously. Then he beat his fists against his chest and pointed at the heathens. The warrior woman’s armor let out a bloodcurdling yell.
The chanting continued. Lurx! Lurx! Lurx!
It was clear that the derro were demanding some sort of single combat, and the heathens, after some discussion among themselves about dwarven traditions, seemed to understand and—more surprisingly—to accept. The newcomers gathered around each other. The two men made hand signals at each other—the one with a sword held out his fist, and the one with the warhammers held his hand flat like a blade, parallel with the floor.
The heathens formed a circle around Sword. The girl prayed—how odd for battle that she prayed to the godling Alirria! Glasses chanted a spell of defense. Armor talked quite forcefully about the young man’s extensive training. Prompted by Armor, Hood gave some advice on dodging attacks. Then Warhammers clapped him on the back.
Sword stepped forward into what had become a large empty space in the center of the room, ringed by derro. His friends spread out around the room among the derro, uncertain looks on their faces, hands on their weapons.
The crowd backed away from the two fighters and, for a moment, all was quiet as the two began to circle each other. Lurx growled softly. Sword shifted his weight from foot to foot, his weapon at the ready.
I would like to note that Thatch and I, instinctively, broke into Rock-Paper-Scissors without even looking at each other at that moment at the table. In 20 years of writing comedy, I've never seen a more perfect bit of timing.
__________________ *ROLL* You -- heh-heh, heh -- excuse me. You find no traps. Heh.
In 20 years of writing comedy, I've never seen a more perfect bit of timing.
That's saying something.
And I'd like to point out what I found even funnier about it: It's not just that Tavi and Kormick broke right into rock-paper-scissors...it's that there was nothing to rock-paper-scissors about. They wanted the *same outcome.*
And I'd like to point out what I found even funnier about it: It's not just that Tavi and Kormick broke right into rock-paper-scissors...it's that there was nothing to rock-paper-scissors about. They wanted the *same outcome.*
Nyoko would like to point out that heathens are so weird. (But she's too polite to say anything.)
__________________ Welcome to the Halmae
Where all the fighters are strong, all the sorcerers are good-looking, and all of the familiars are above average.
Tavi leapt into battle with Lurx, dodging and weaving. Lurx’s powerful derro body was compact and firm, and his vulnerabilities weren’t immediately apparent. But, as Mena was fond of saying, Tavi had trained for this. And if he’d learned anything in this underground labyrinth, it was that he was damn good at what he’d trained for.
Lurx swung his huge fist at Tavi’s shoulder. Tavi parried and dodged. But maybe that’s an opening. He hurled his sword at Lurx’s exposed side. The sword glanced off Lurx, ineffectual, but kept spinning and sliced one of the smaller derro behind the behemoth before returning to Tavi’s hand. Lurx sneered and then grinned at Tavi’s failure to connect.
Not what I wanted to do, Tavi thought, but now we’ve learned something important. As long as I’m going for the big guy, I won’t violate the rules of single combat if I hurt someone else. He unleashed his blade’s flame cyclone—burning Lurx a little, and turning the derro behind him into a screaming, flaming cinder. Phoebe clearly thought that was a good idea. Now we’re talking!
Phoebe’s encouraging voice joined a chorus of aid from his compatriots. Some of it was good advice, and some of it was just good for distracting Lurx, but Tavi was glad for all of it, because it kept Lurx guessing his next move. “Again!” “Don’t let him bring his arm down!” “Go for the hamstring!” “Kneecaps! Kneecaps!”
DM’s Note: So, this bit of gameplay was a little experiment. How long could I sustain single combat between one PC and a Solo monster? Yes. That’s right. Lurx is a Solo monster, who Tavi is fighting by himself.
Sort of.
See, in order to give the rest of the PCs something to do, I created a series of skill-challenge like actions that they could take. By using their skills to help Tavi, other players were able to give him bonuses to hit, to damage, or other various powers. I’ll post the complete rules in a separate post. But for now, it’s enough to know that those shouts of encouragement were more than just shouts of encouragement: they were combat bonuses.
Which were pretty sorely needed.
Among the chaos of derro and human voices, there was one new one, a woman’s: “He favors his right side!” Whoever that was, Tavi noticed, she knew what she was talking about. Tavi sent Phoebe flying around Lurx’s right side and spun around Lurx’s back from the left. Green flames burst from his blade and WHAM he hit Lurx smack in the face.
“Do that again!” yelled Savina.
###
Arden crept behind the circle of derro. Why the freepeople want to honor the rules of savages, she thought, I have no idea. But at least no one’s looking at me – which is just the chance I need.
The derro jeered and screamed, their backs to her as she slid along the wall. She stole a glimpse past them: Signor Octavian and Lurx were a blur of fists and fire, as a blast of light from Signor Octavian’s hand blinded Lurx, leaving the giant derro open to attack from his flaming sword. Lurx roared in anger and flailed wildly as Tavi ducked and thrust again.
Arden turned away from the fight when she reached the chained slaves. The Sovereign woman was in front. Several dwarves were chained behind her, farther along an incomplete passage leading away from the back of the room.
Silently, Arden knelt down and, for the first time on this journey, pulled a small but well-crafted set of lockpicks from their hiding place beneath her belt. With the ease and skill of one who speaks to locks as to a long and intimately studied enemy, she released the Sovereign woman from her fetters. What would Alleged say if he knew I had these particular tools . . .
The Sovereign woman gave a slight bow of greeting. “I am in your debt,” she said, below the din of the derro crowd. “I am Nyoko. ”
“I am Arden.”
“It is an honor to meet you, Arden.”
Arden smiled. Wonder if she’d feel that way if she knew what I was. Arden savored the feeling of being equals, two comrades on the battlefield. “Nyoko, can you fight?”
Nyoko nodded with the look of one who not only could fight, but wanted to. Arden was encouraged. “Can they?” Arden pointed to the dwarves in the passageway.
“Four are very frail,” replied Nyoko, “and frailer every day. And one is very young. But he has no shortage of energy.”
The cacophony of battle raged in the background. Over it all, Arden could hear Mena’s voice, tinged, Arden thought, with real concern: “Get up off your ass and hit him!”
Arden made her way down the narrow passageway toward the dwarves. They cringed away from her, and she winced: I’ve been there. The four older ones were as frail, and the young one as green and eager, as Nyoko had said. If they fled out of this passageway and into the battle area, they would be slaughtered. But they must be freed.
Arden approached them, and asked Nyoko to translate. “I can unlock you. You will want to run. You must not run. Will you stay here?”
Each dwarf nodded, mutely, in response.
###
“Hit him again!” Savina found herself screaming something that seemed very unlike herself. But as she watched a burst of flame erupt from Tavi’s hand, she wanted nothing more than to see him victorious. He looked strong and brave out there, with dirt shading his brow, sweat glistening in his hair, and fierce concentration clouding his face. “Again!” A flurry of swordwork sliced Lurx’s arm and back, but they barely bled.
Lurx swung his enormous fists with the force—and, fortunately, the accuracy—of a lumbering giant. Tavi dodged, backing away at just the right moments and feinting with his sword. Lurx bellowed and blustered as he reached down in a failed attempt to grab Tavi in his powerful arms. With every miss, Lurx became more and more angry. One of his blows connected with a discarded bookcase, which splintered to bits. Savina imagined if that bookcase had been Tavi’s ribs, and shuddered, and prayed.
###
Arden popped open the first three locks as if they had been left undone. It was like it had all been leading to this; she just tuned out the noise and did it. Three dwarven men, one elderly and two middle aged, stood in disbelief, still apprehensive of their new liberty. Next was an elderly dwarf. Behind him, the boy was jumping up and down as best he could, his chains rattling, as he fired questions at her in dwarven. Arden tried to communicate to him with her eyes: be patient. Soon.
The fourth lock wasn’t so easy. She fumbled a bit as the yelling and screaming leaked into her mind, and memories of harder locks leaked in with memories of even harder times. Eventually this one opened too, and she looked up to see the face of the dwarf she had freed. His face was deeply lined, his beard shaved to shame him.
Arden stood up and gave him the same steady look she had given the others, to keep him from running. Like them, he did not move, only shook and looked down in disbelief, and raised his arm slowly as if to prove it was truly disconnected from its chains. Arden pointed to herself. “Arden,” she said.
The dwarf blinked.
“Arden,” she repeated, pointing again at herself.
“Romek,” the dwarf replied, his eyes wide. Then he knelt at her feet.
His fear and subservience were too familiar, too hurtful. It shocked her worse than if he'd pulled a blade and gutted her. Inside herself, she was screaming—Don’t do that!—but when she opened her mouth, she was speechless. Even if she had known dwarven, she would be helpless to know what to say.
###
“You’re wearing him down!” Kormick yelled.
Encouragement had never been Kormick’s strong suit, but he figured “You’ve been hammering away at this guy for ages and he’s barely even bruised and his increasingly belligerent compatriots outnumber us three to one” wasn’t really going to do much for morale. “You’re wearing him down” seemed like a better choice.
A burst of flame from Tavi’s sword singed Lurx’s hair and Tavi whirled around to avoid another blow from the behemoth, backing into a derro foreman in the process. Tavi had done a good job of avoiding Lurx’s powerful blows, but bruises were beginning to rise where he’d been buffeted by the crowd, and he was flagging. Tavi stumbled, giving Lurx a chance to move on to the high ground provided by a pile of scree.
As Tavi swung, Lurx suddenly shifted left, grabbing Tavi’s arm and twisting him around in a bone crushing bear hug. With a great roar, Lurx lifted Tavi up above his head and hurled him across the room, directly toward Kormick. Tavi landed at Kormick’s feet and did not move.
DM’s Note: Don’t let the Solo Monster hit you with a crit. While using an action point. And a minor action follow up. Don’t do that at all.
The derro crowd went crazy, screaming, banging their swords against their armor and cheering.
Get up, kid, thought Kormick. You know you want to.
Lurx stood over him with a look that said “You want some more?”
He’s gonna get up, thought Kormick.
Kormick could hear Savina praying, and could see the color rise in Tavi’s cheeks.
“Off your ass, NOW!” yelled Mena.
Tavi stumbled to his feet.
“Go get ’em,” said Kormick, giving Tavi a friendly push.
Tavi took a couple of swings at Lurx, moving more like a drunk trying to impress his friends than the expert Kormick knew him to be. The fall had taken its toll.
Tavi tried to head for the high ground, but Lurx’s fists were in the way. Kormick winced as two punishing blows folded Tavi like a rag doll. Then Lurx picked Tavi up again and threw him again, this time into the center of the circle.
Tavi was unconscious.
The derro cheered wildly, banging their swords against their armor, banging their fists against their chests. Lurx! Lurx! Lurx! Lurx!
The following are the solo-combat rules we used during the Lurx fight. DCs are tied to the party's level at the time (Level 2)
Quote:
Solo Combat
One player fights Lurx in single combat. As a standard action, other players may shout encouragement by making various skill checks.
All checks receive a bonus equal to the number of Healing Surges the player involved in the combat has remaining.
All checks receive a cumulative -1 modifier for each subsequent time an individual player uses the same skill. EACH PLAYER MUST TRACK THEIR OWN PENALTIES.
Available skills:
Endurance (DC 15): 3 successes in a round earns the fighter an extra healing surge
Acrobatics (DC 15): 1 success lets the fighter shift 1 square as a Minor Action (limit 1/round)
Insight (DC 15): 1 success gives the fighter a +1 bonus to 1 defense for the next round (limit 1/round)
Perception (DC 15): 1 success gives the fighter a +1 bonus to attacks for the next round (limit 1/round)
Intimidate, Heal (DC 15): 3 successes gives the fighter an extra +1d6 damage to one attack the next round
Arcana, Athletics, Religion, Stealth (DC 15): 1 success allows the fighter to spoof one of your powers as an extra Standard action, as if they had spent an Action Point (limit 1/round).
The fighter rolls using your stats with that power. This counts as your power’s use for the encounter. You roll Arcana for Arcane powers, Religion for Divine powers, and Athletics or Stealth (player’s choice) for Martial powers.
Note: The fighter’s background must allow them to use the power source in question. For example, Mena, who has no arcane abilities, would not be able to spoof an arcane power. Similarly, Twiggy, who has no martial prowess, would not be able to spoof a martial power. However, Jan, though technically a martial character, has established arcane abilities—he would be able to use martial or arcane powers (possibly divine powers with a negative modifier).
Additional Actions:
Push (Athletics)- if either combatant is adjacent to you at the end of their turn, you may attempt to push them 1 square. Make an Athletics check: DC 10 pushes 1 square, DC 15 pushes 2 squares. Adjacent players may Aid Another on this check; nearby players may shift 1 square if it will make them adjacent. Remember, forced movement does not provoke opportunity attacks.
Powers- at any time, you may use any of your powers as normal. Remember, doing damage to one of the combatants or other observers is forbidden by the rules of combat (combatants are allowed to do indirect damage to observers, however).
“TAVI!” It was all Savina could do to stop herself from running into the middle of the circle to the fighter’s side. But instead, she prayed. As she prayed, she could feel Alirria’s warmth course through her. Tavi’s eyes blinked open and, slowly, he began to push himself up.
Lurx puffed his chest and roared. The derro crowd cheered, beating their swords against their armor. In the din, Savina could hear their allies. Twiggy was chanting a spell. Mena was barking what Savina supposed was encouragement, her armor hissing and sputtering and roaring with intimidating fury. Zirkai was berating Tavi for being slow to rise. Where was Arden?
As soon as Tavi was on his feet, his sword ignited. A burst of flame caught Lurx and the derro behind him. But Lurx still had the high ground.
Kormick’s voice boomed from beside Savina. “He’s above you! Now’s the time for the femoral artery!”
“Slice his balls off!” screamed a voice from across the room. It came from a Sovereign woman. Savina hadn’t noticed her before. Where had she come from?
“Who is that enchanting creature?” Kormick quipped.
Savina didn’t have time to marvel at Kormick’s gallows humor—or, apparently, his romantic preferences. Although Alirria had given Tavi renewed strength, Lurx was giving him quite a beating.
From his place atop the pile of scree, Lurx had pushed Tavi into a small crowd of derro. Tavi’s hummingbird flew out of the crowd, confusing Lurx for a moment, and Lurx smashed one of the derro, nearly killing his own ally. It gave Tavi the chance get in one more good strike before Lurx shoved him to the ground with a massive, crunching punch. It hurt to hear.
Tavi was unconscious, again.
###
The last set of shackles was the dwarven boy’s. “Thurran?” Arden asked. A dusty head bobbed up and down in assent. He tugged at his restraints, clearly itching to pull free.
Arden looked around for help in communicating with the boy. Nyoko, who had translated before, was too far away and too close to the fighting to be any help. Her Sovereign voice rang out as loud as anyone’s: “Now you’ve got him!” “Hit him harder!” “Slice him good!”
Arden tried her best to express to Thurran that he should stay here, in the passage, where it was safe, but she knew it was a losing proposition. Arden positioned herself in the tunnel between Thurran and the fighting, fixed Thurran with a stern look, and popped open the shackles. He pushed forward toward her, then against her . . . but did not pass her. As long as she was blocking the way, he would not force himself through. They would both have to watch the battle from here.
###
Zirkai was really starting to piss Mena off.
It would be glib to say that berating Tavi was Mena’s job, but by the Cursed Bitch, it certainly wasn’t Zirkai’s. Yet there was Zirkai, harping from the sidelines as if she could do it better.
“Let me at ’im!” Zirkai slurred. “I’ll show you some real fight!”
Then Tavi went down, again. He lay just a few feet from Mena. Just out of reach.
Mena gripped her sword in frustration and anger. The derro were in near-riot conditions. Their little band seemed almost out of options. She knew it was not yet the right time, tactically, to break out of single combat… but is it the only time? Her body tensed as she prepared to rush in.
Mena was torn from her quandary by the piercing voice of Zirkai. “Lemme help!” she screamed, from the other side of the circle. Zirkai pushed and shoved at Savina. “Lemme go! Now!” Zirkai kept yelling, pushing. Savina, stunned, let her pass. Zirkai began jostling her way around the circle toward Mena.
“Lemme through! I can help!” Zirkai sounded almost lucid now, as she forced herself through a knot of derro. By the time she reached Twiggy, she had some momentum. Twiggy added to it, with a shove on the back. Kormick pushed even harder. By the time she reached Mena, Zirkai was almost airborne.
Mena grabbed Zirkai, pulled her forward, and planted her in front of Tavi.
Zirkai leaned down and yelled, inches from Tavi’s ear. “GET UP! GET UP YOU LAZY BASTARD!”
And something amazing happened: Tavi got up.
And he got up strong. This time, Tavi’s sword swung true, and hit twice, once on each of Lurx’s enormous arms. Now Lurx was starting to bleed, and finally, finally, beginning to show some small signs of slowing down.
Zirkai kept yelling. “Oath breakers! Scum!”
That didn’t help. Lurx had Tavi in his grasp again, and threw him again—this time, Tavi landed directly on top of Mena and they rolled in a tangled heap. It made Mena hurt, and it wasn’t a good idea to make Mena hurt.
“You okay?” She asked, as she helped Tavi up.
Tavi swallowed hard and looked over to the corner where Rose stood in front of the crowd of dwarves. “Still going,” he replied.
Mena steeled Tavi with a look of cool preparation. “Remember your training,” she urged. “Use your environment. All of it.” Tavi looked around, nodded in understanding, and without another word, pushed off against Mena and barreled across the ring, hurling himself into Lurx so hard that it pushed Lurx against the electrical moss on the wall. Then he stepped back and swung his sword, and its green flame married with the green electricity of the moss and Lurx—finally—shook with what looked like pain.
When Mena recovered from the shove, she turned to Zirkai, who was still screaming her head off.
“You will never call that boy lazy again,” she said, calmly.
“OATHBREAKERS! HOMEWRECKERS!”
“Shut. Up.” Mena said, and slapped Zirkai across the face.
For the first time, Zirkai shut up.
###
Arden thought it would feel better, unlocking the dwarves. And it did, mostly. She’d chosen to free the slaves. Whatever happened next, she’d done that. Thurran was vibrating with excitement behind her, and she understood his feeling. She shared it: She'd claimed a moment of freedom, which, as always, left her feeling strong and craving more—
—but she would need to remember to address the boy as Master Thurran now. And she would need to learn Nyoko's title and use it scrupulously. She touched the bracelet on her own wrist, the one shackle she couldn't remove. They were free, but she wasn't. So it didn't simply feel better, unlocking the dwarves. It also felt wrong.
She heard Nyoko’s voice, across the room, addressing Signor Octavian: “Keep pushing!” She felt Thurran's small hands against her back as he fought to contain himself. They did this to Thurran, to the others, she thought. They forced us to wade through blood to stop them. And we're following their rules of combat? It was wrong.
Everything about this was wrong. And it wasn’t even over.
Arden peeked through a space between the derro, and what she saw put the finishing touch on her anger. Signor Octavian—bruised and battered in a way Arden had almost never seen in a freeperson—sliced at Lurx’s side as Lurx raised his arm. Lurx was hurt, but nothing like the young Signor. Arden knew death’s door intimately, and this well-intentioned kid had stood under its lintel for too long already. Lurx let out a bellowing roar, swung his powerful fist, and punched. The Signor staggered back. Unconscious. Again.
That was it. This needed to be over, now. Arden pulled the shortsword from her belt and stabbed the nearest derro in the back. It tumbled forward into the circle, dead.
###
There was a brief moment of silence—ever so brief—as the derro in the circle realized what had happened.
Then all hell broke loose. Derro stopped pounding their armor and began stabbing at the nearest heathen. Hood was the first to get hit—she had started it, Nyoko supposed—and Armor, Glasses, and the Alirrian girl weren’t far behind. The derro fought with the manner of those afraid of their attackers, and they were right to be: Sword had gotten up three times from unconsciousness, and had made Lurx bleed. Now they would see what his friends could do. Armor’s sword sliced one of the foremen; Glasses chanted a spell; the Alirrian girl prayed. Two derro shook and collapsed.
Suddenly, the young dwarf—Thurran—came hurtling out of the passageway, screaming and letting loose a barrage of rocks that seemed larger than himself. Nyoko witnessed it, although it seemed unbelievable: the rocks hit four derro in the heads with such force that they fell, bleeding, to the ground. They weren’t so outnumbered anymore . . . and less outnumbered by the minute, as two more fell, batting at some imaginary foe in the air.
DM’S Note: That would be the use of Thurran’s Daily Power, by the way…”
Warhammers stood in front of Lurx, held his hammers in front of himself, and said a word: “Elizabet!” Raw energy crackled from between the hammers, shooting out toward Lurx and then on toward the green moss. Lurx trembled from the energy of the blast and the moss at once, but Warhammers was not done—in a single motion, he hooked his hammers back on his belt, pulled out two crossbows, took a step back, and fired two bolts straight into Lurx’s chest. Lurx staggered back, batting at the crossbow bolts, finally showing weakness.
There’s my opening. Nyoko grabbed a rock in one hand and a shortsword from one of the fallen derro, and whirled into the center of the circle. I don’t know you, but sorry, she thought, as she stepped on to Sword’s unconscious body and pushed off, propelling herself into the air and slicing at Lurx’s neck. The sword connected with a satisfying swish.
“We really need to win this fight,” she said, as she landed next to Warhammers. And is that a holy symbol under his robe? she thought.
“Really?” he replied, “I was thinking we could just call it a tie and move on.” He let loose another crossbow bolt. It hit.
“I am tired of teaching you your place!” Lurx bellowed at Nyoko, reaching down toward her. She somersaulted from his reach, but he came after her again, grabbing, crushing. Suddenly, she was up in the air, then hitting the wall . . . pain screamed from her joints and she could feel the warmth of blood against her temple.
Armor planted her feet and her armor hissed at Lurx. “You’re tired? Really?” She lifted her sword above her head and brought it down across the body of the last remaining foreman. Blood poured from his chest as he fell.
Lurx staggered back to the center of the room, where the Alirrian girl was kneeling over Sword. “You!” he roared. Sword’s eyes fluttered open. Lurx reared back to swing . . . and the Alirrian girl brandished her holy symbol. “Alirria!” She yelled. “Lend us your might!”
Alirria? Might? What a strange turn of phrase, Nyoko thought—but as the girl yelled, the cave itself seemed to tremble in response and ray of light burst from the Alirrian holy symbol, engulfing Lurx in blinding light and knocking him backward. With a great cry of anguish, Lurx fell to the floor, finally, still.
Warhammers approached the body and poked it with his toe. Then he shot the dead body with a crossbow bolt.
“I like how you think, Honored Justicar,” said Nyoko.
“Slice his balls off!” screamed a voice from across the room. It came from a Sovereign woman. Savina hadn’t noticed her before. Where had she come from?
“Who is that enchanting creature?” Kormick quipped.
...
Warhammers approached the body and poked it with his toe. Then he shot the dead body with a crossbow bolt.
“I like how you think, Honored Justicar,” said Nyoko.
Kormick and Nyoko: a match made in heaven?
__________________ I think so Brain, but wouldn't his movies be more suitable for children if he were named 'Jean-Claude Van Darn'?
He definitely has his good points, for a heathen, but Nyoko knows that she can never compete with Mena in the realm of Kormick's affections.
__________________ Welcome to the Halmae
Where all the fighters are strong, all the sorcerers are good-looking, and all of the familiars are above average.
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